Angel Academy

Chapter Twenty-Six

Two hundred and seventy-three . . . two hundred and seventy-four . . . two hundred and seventy-five . . . two hundred and seventy-six.

276 days. That's how long Luciana was in this cell. Every day she scratched another line on the wall.

I thought it was a stupid and dramatic thing to do, but after a couple of weeks I realized it's probably the only thing that can keep you sane when you're sitting in a stone room in total isolation.

I can't believe how sadistic these assholes are. They put me in her old cell. It hasn't even been cleaned. There's blood smeared on the door and a sticky puddle in the corner.

I feel bile rise in my throat when I realize the blood either belonged to Luciana, or they've succumbed other people to this torture. I suppose it had to be the latter. It's too damn fresh. 

My jaw clenches at the sound of the door hinges creaking. The guard angel stalks inside the cell, his painted blue wings held stiff and proud like the good little soldier he is.

He takes the chains off my wrists but leave the restraints on my wings. They hurt like hell, pinching my wings together so tight―they're practically bare under the thick leather. Dozens of red feathers are scattered across the floor.

The guard grabs my arm and yanks me off the cot and out the door. My arm throbs where his fingers dig into my flesh. My bare feet sting worse though, already bloody from walking on the rough stone in my cell. I can't see anything in the dark hall, but I bet there are hundreds of rust-colored footprints covering the floor.

Moans of agony and hoarse sobbing fill my ears as I pass the other cells, until finally the guard locks me in a sterile white room at the end of the hall. The acrid stench of chemicals burns my nose and makes my eyes water.

"Step over there Diana, just like before," a voice says.

I glance at the light angel sitting on a chair in the corner. His face is stoic as he looks at me, not even a trace of empathy or concern.

I swallow hard before trudging to the center of the room where two more guards wait. One of them cuffs my hands together in front of me while the other locks chains around my ankles. The chains are so short that I can't move my feet apart at all.

They each hold one of my arms even tighter than the last guard. I feel a hand stroke my wings and my stomach turns.

"For a demon's daughter, your wings truly are beautiful," the man breathes in my ear.

My heart beats faster and my entire body shakes with each shuddering breath. A sharp pain at the base of my right wing makes me gasp. Tears prick my eyes and I don't have the strength to hold them back.

I feel the needle in my other wing and a small whimper escapes my lips. "How long are you going to keep doing this?" I rasp.

"Well thanks to your mother, we aren't allowed to remove your wings. So, you're going to keep coming in here every week until your mother stops being an overprotective little bitch," he spits.

I start to open my mouth to respond, to defend my mother, but nothing comes out. My body is virtually drained of energy as the remaining bit of strength is sapped from my wings.

I feel his hands on them again and a wave of nausea rises over me. "Please stop," I plead weakly.

"Unchain her feet and put her on the table," he says and I feel panic set in.

"What are you doing?" I ask as the guards follow his instructions.

"If your wounds get infected, you're going to get sick, and the infection would likely kill you with how weak you are. And the Council would be unhappy if that were to happen," he says, dragging over his stool to sit in front of me.